Afraid to get out of my shell, I am. Like a baby chick hesitating to hatch out of its shell. Afraid of the abrasions that might come with its escape past the sharp edges. And I'm sitting here waiting for the shell I cut in half to form softer ends. Ones that won't leave a skid or a bruise- ones that will already recognize the scars I've attained and for once give me a pass. I lay in my shell, looking up at the light, and the light is looking down at me- dispersing unevenly. Through the bright side, the fear disappears and the light calls. Through the dark side, my mind nests in its safety and familiarity. But the light is calling, and I will follow- past the sharp shell.
